So I got bored today and decided to write for the first time in years. Also inspired by the song Passenger Seat by Death Cab for Cutie. For Serah <3 Title: Wings. Rating: U Disclaimer: This story is fiction. I have no contact with the writers of Supernatural or the actors. These characters are not mine. Main Characters: Dean Winchester/Castiel Summary: I am no good at summaries and I don’t want to give away the story. Genre: Fluff, Romance (sort of). The hunter began his journey, heading west. The stars shone in the sea of black above him, the moon his only source of light. He felt a sense of longing for something he couldn't put a name to just yet. It was a faint tug in his chest, stretching down to his gut, like a hunger that neither food nor drink could satisfy. Was it Hell that had ripped a hole through him, left him empty? All the loss he had suffered in his life? He found no answer, just hollowness within. Windows wound down, he drank deep from the night air, crisp and cool, soothing him. He wondered what would become of him if he continued his course west. Would he have to face an evil he could not defeat? There would be no return this time, no-one to resurrect him. There would just be an eternity of memories to relive, his greatest hits. He chuckled, he could not think of a more unbearable way for him to spend eternity, forever seeing the faces of those he loved, the faces of those that had died so that he may live; he smiled ruefully. Let me die quickly and be done with everything. No heaven or hell, just non-existence –eternal rest. His weary eyes began to droop. He longed for a soft pillow to lay his head upon, for someone to wake up beside him and smile, to tell him everything was alright and that the weight of the world was not on his shoulders, just for a moment. He knew it was impossible, but still he hoped. The hum of the engine died down as he climbed into the backseat. He draped his leather jacket over himself, once again longing for the soft pillow and the reassuring smile that he knew would not meet him when he woke. His dreams were not fluid, rather like snapshots blurred by motion. He could make out some of the faces that flashed by – his mother and father, his brother, his uncle – he felt a pang of guilt at each one. There was another face that he could not see properly, as if he were staring at it through murky water but something about it was familiar, safe. The clearer it got, the further away it seemed and in no time at all, he was awake again. There was a soft pillow beneath his head, feathers caressing the side of his face as he turned. The sky was still twinkling, the black sea still choking back the first rays of sun fighting through the darkness. He stepped outside the vehicle to see an angel in a trench coat sitting atop the hood of his car, staring at the faintly glowing sky. He turned towards the hunter, smiling. The ever-present hole within the hunter seemed to fill itself as his chest swelled; he returned the smile of the angel and joined him on the hood of the car. He felt a feather on his cheek again as he leaned into the angel and for a moment, there was nothing. There was no pain and no empty hole inside him, just the two of them, watching the sun greet the horizon in victory over the darkness. For the first time in years, he slipped into peaceful repose, feeling weightless, feeling whole. --- Thoughts?